


Easier Than One, Two, Three

by MadAlien



Series: Perce & Ollie [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Worship, Body insecurity, Bottom Percy Weasley, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Insecure Percy, Insecurity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise, Top Oliver Wood, so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadAlien/pseuds/MadAlien
Summary: Percy suddenly becomes deeply insecure about his body and appearance, and Oliver has to figure out the cause and reassure his boyfriend.





	Easier Than One, Two, Three

Percy stood in front of the large, ornate mirror in the corner of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of plain black briefs, frowning at his reflection. He was so pale and freckly—how had he never noticed how absurdly pale and freckly he was until this moment? And that was nothing in comparison to just how small and skinny he was. He wasn’t tall like Ron or stocky and strong like the twins; he was short and slight with no muscle definition to speak of. His chest looked nearly sunken in, and short of a few sparse ginger wisps, his chest and stomach were virtually hairless. No abs to speak of either, just a soft dip of belly above sharply protruding hips. 

And his arms. Merlin, were his arms pathetic. Bony and weak, they were just useless limbs dangling from narrow shoulders that were always a little hunched from his long days leaning over complicated documents at work. His legs were no better than his arms—small thighs, knobby knees, and slender calves. They were the legs of a pathetic, boring introvert who spent all of his time indoors with books and reports and no time out of doors playing Quidditch or hiking or doing whatever the hell more sporty wizards spent their time doing. 

No, Percy concluded with a sigh, scrubbing a hand—a small, skinny-fingered hand—over his unremarkable face, there was not a single thing about him that could be interpreted as handsome or appealing. He wasn’t repulsive, he supposed, but that was an awfully low bar to clear. “Not repulsive” was not a badge of honor one could wear alongside a Head Boy badge.

Percy jumped half a foot in the air when he heard a rumbly voice from the doorway. “Getting started without me, love? I told you I wouldn’t be late tonight.” 

Percy turned to see Oliver in all his muscled, windswept post-Quidditch glory. How he managed to look so properly windswept after showering—and Percy was certain Oliver had showered; his light brown hair was still a bit damp and Merlin help him, even from across the room, Percy could smell the spicy soap Oliver used—was a mystery to Percy. Percy’s chest ached a little just looking at his boyfriend. He was so beautiful, so strong, so perfect. He was everything that Percy was not, and for all his N.E.W.Ts, Percy could not figure out why a man as stunning as Oliver even spared Percy as second glance. 

Flustered, Percy turned back to the mirror, away from Oliver. “You’re early,” he said, noticing how red and blotched his face was. Damn, yet another disadvantage of being so pale: his mortification was stamped right there on his cheeks for the whole world to see. 

If Percy had been facing him, he’d have seen Oliver’s smile droop at Percy’s less-than-enthusiastic response to Oliver getting out of practice early. But he wasn’t looking at Oliver; he was looking at his lack of a jawline and garish hair and weak chin and pointy elbows. He was so engrossed in being disappointed in his own reflection that he didn’t hear Oliver come up behind him, nor did he notice him appearing beside him in the mirror. 

“Darling, is something wrong?” Oliver asked gently, slipping his arms around Percy’s waist and pressing a kiss to his temple. 

Percy twisted out of Oliver’s arms, desperate to get away from the mirror, which was now highlighting all of Percy’s flaws by contrasting them with Oliver’s perfect form. “My shirt,” he muttered. “Where is my shirt?” He started pulling open the drawers of their dresser at random, apparently having forgotten which drawer he kept his shirts in, which was silly, really, as he was the one who had instituted a very regimented order to their drawers upon Oliver first moving in with him. Oliver had a very laissez faire attitude toward organization and tidiness, and that simply would not do. 

“Perce, why do you need a shirt?” Oliver said, desperately trying to get his partner’s attention, his worry mounting as Percy’s movements became even more jerky and frenzied. “Perce. Percy!” 

Percy froze. Oliver rarely called him Percy, preferring instead to bestow him with endless nicknames and sickly sweet terms of endearment (Percy secretly loved this but would never in a million years admit to it), and his use of his proper name now was something akin to having his full name shouted at him by his mother, as far as getting his attention went. Percy slowly swiveled to face Oliver, a lone sock in one hand and a pair of Oliver’s trousers in the other. 

Oliver approached Percy slowly, as if he were a frightened deer who might be spooked and dart off at any sudden movement. He took the sock and trousers out of Percy’s hands and set them on top of the dresser before placing his big, strong, Quidditch Keeper hands gently on Percy’s shoulders. “Perce, you’re scaring me, darling. What is going on?” 

The soft look of concern on Oliver’s beautiful face broke Percy, and it was as though all the life had been knocked out of him. He slumped over, head hanging, shoulders rounded and heaved a deep sigh. “Why are you even with me, Ollie?” He asked so quietly that Oliver could hardly hear him. His voice sounded so tired and defeated, and it broke Oliver’s heart. 

Oliver drew Percy against his chest, holding him tightly even though Percy’s arms remained limp at his sides. “Why would you even ask me that, Perce?”

Percy slumped against Oliver. “I just—I mean—I’m not like you, Ollie.” 

Oliver’s brow furrowed as he tried to determine what Percy meant by this. “Well, that’s rather good,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “because I certainly don’t want to date myself.” 

Percy tried to wiggle out of Oliver’s grasp, but Oliver wasn’t having it. “You don’t get it!” Percy said, sounding a tiny bit angry now.

“Love, please help me understand. What don’t I get?” Oliver was growing more and more frightened. He’d never seen Percy act like this—usually he was so steady and sure. He certainly hadn’t been in this state when they’d parted that morning, and Oliver couldn’t possibly imagine what had happened between then and now that would result in Percy behaving this way. 

“I’m not like you!” Percy repeated. “And I’m not like Malcolm or Omar or Desmond or any of your Quidditch mates. I’m short and scrawny and pale, and I’m never going to be all buff like they are or confident like they are. I’m useless on a broom and awkward at parties, and I haven’t got more charm than you could fit on top of a knut. And I just—I—I don’t understand why you’re even with me when you could be with somebody like Omar! Why the hell would you want to be with a pathetic, wimpy little twerp when you could have a bronzed, muscled god with really nice hair?” Percy was practically panting now and suddenly felt suffocated by Oliver’s embrace. “Would you please let go of me?” 

He regretted saying it the moment it came out of his mouth; Oliver released him immediately, his arms dropping heavily to his side, but there was no hiding the hurt in Oliver’s eyes. 

“Ollie, I—” Percy was cut off my a sharp shake of Oliver’s head. 

Everything was slowly starting to make sense to Oliver—Percy’s insecurity, his harsh examination of his body, his questioning of Oliver’s attraction to him. The previous night they’d attended a party hosted by a one of Puddlemere United’s most generous benefactors to celebrate the start of a new season. Though Percy had spent time with Oliver’s teammates before, he hadn’t been around the team much since the addition of star Seeker Omar Khan. 

Tall, broad, and covered in lean muscle, Omar was gregarious and well-liked by his teammates, and he was also an impossible flirt. The man had dimples that could charm any wizard, witch, or non-binary mage who looked his way, and he didn’t hesitate to use them. Omar also, as Oliver had quickly learned upon taking him out to a pub with the rest of the team after Omar’s first practice with Puddlemere, tended to get chatty—very, very chatty—after getting a few pints in him, and his tact seemed to vanish more and more with every sip. 

Oliver was hit with a sudden memory from the night before of Percy, his face slightly pinched and looking upset immediately after extricating himself from a conversation with Omar and Desmond. Oliver had gotten caught up chatting with Iris, one of Puddlemere’s Beaters, on the way back from the bathroom, leaving Percy to fend for himself for longer than Percy was necessarily comfortable among people he was only vaguely acquainted with. 

He’d asked Percy if everything was okay, of course, but Percy had brushed it off, saying he was just tired from a long day at work and that everything was just fine. Oliver was kicking himself now for not being more attentive, not intuiting that Percy was trying to keep the night running nice and smooth instead of expressing his discomfort. 

Oliver started to reach out to Percy, but hesitated. “Is it okay—can I touch you?”

Percy nodded, immediately feeling guilty that he’d made his boyfriend afraid to touch him. He slid his arms around Oliver’s waist and nestled his face into Oliver’s neck, breathing deeply to calm himself. 

Oliver’s strong arms wrapped around Percy, and he held him tenderly, as though he were still a little afraid of spooking him. “Will you lie down with me?” He asked softly. 

Percy nodded against Oliver’s neck and allowed his partner to guide him to their bed and ease him down. Oliver sprawled out on his back, and Percy immediately curled up against him, his head resting on Oliver’s chest, one arm thrown across his stomach. They both heaved a sigh of relief—no matter what had gone wrong over the past twenty-four hours, they’d still found their way to each other, to the position they automatically assumed each night as they fell asleep and any time they just wanted to be close to one another. Oliver gathered Percy into his arms once more, one arm resting across his shoulders, the other nestled into the dip just above Percy’s hipbone. 

“I love you, Perce,” Oliver said, feeling that the most important thing should be said first. 

“I love you, too, Ollie. I’m sorry for being so awful to you.” 

“You weren’t awful, love,” Oliver said soothingly, kissing Percy’s forehead. 

“I was,” Percy retorted, his voice resigned. 

Oliver pressed his lips against Percy’s forehead again. “Did something happen while I was talking to Iris last night?”

Percy sighed. “It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“Sweetheart, if it has you questioning why I want to be with you, I’d say it’s a pretty big deal.” Oliver tried to keep his voice light and matter-of-fact, but it shook ever so slightly. “Perce, it gutted me to hear you talk about yourself like that. I don’t want you to ever think that you’re not enough. Don’t you know that you’re everything I’ve ever wanted?” 

A tear slipped out of Percy’s eye and dropped onto Oliver’s t-shirt. He sniffled a little. “I’m sorry,” he said in a very small voice. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, love,” Oliver assured him. “I’m not angry at you. I just hate hearing you treat yourself with such harshness.” 

Percy burrowed further into Oliver’s chest and was quiet for a moment. “He kept mentioning how small I am,” he said finally. “Omar, I mean. And I knew he was drunk and that what some man I didn’t know thought about me shouldn’t matter, but he just kept saying it: ‘You’re awfully small for a Quidditch player’s man, wouldn’t you say? Somebody more like me would better suit him, I think.’” Percy sniffled again before continuing. “He told me that you’d mentioned having a boyfriend a couple of times and that I wasn’t what he was picturing. He expected me to…match you. Said we were a bit of a mismatch.” 

“Oh, Perce.” Oliver’s voice sounded wrecked and pained. He held Percy closer, if that was even possible, and pressed kisses into his hair and across his temple. “We match perfectly, love.”

“But—” Percy began to protest. 

“But nothing,” Oliver said, his voice gentle but firm. “Do you feel how perfectly you fit in my arms, Perce? How your cheek rests so comfortably against my chest or between my shoulder and my neck?” He picked up the hand that was resting against his stomach and twined their fingers together. “See that?” He said, resting their joined hands near Percy’s face. “Our fingers fit together so nicely. I love that we both have callouses on our hands in different places—yours on your fingers where the quill rubs against them when you’re writing all the memos and reports your beautiful brain thinks up. Mine on my palms where my gloves chafe my skin during long practices.” He brought their hands up to his lips and kissed the back of Percy’s. 

Percy trembled slightly in his arms. “I just don’t want you to stop loving me,” he whispered, as though his most closely held, most shameful secret were being ripped out of him against his will. 

Oliver rolled suddenly so that Percy was trapped beneath his larger body. He braced his elbows against the bed so that his weight wouldn’t crush Percy and kissed him thoroughly. “I will never,” he said, pulling away just a hair’s length so that his lips still brushed against Percy’s, “stop loving you, Perce. Never.”

He kissed him again, gentle and searching. His tongue swept lazily against Percy’s as he desperately tried to show through his actions how devoted, how dedicated, how lost he was to Percy. He’d never fancied himself good with words. He’d made it through school with decent marks, but matters of the brain had never been his strong suit. Percy was the smart one between the two of them. The one who had more words stuffed up in his brain than a dictionary and who could analyze the densest, dullest, most convoluted bit of wizarding law and interpret and explain it perfectly. Oliver’s deepest fear was that his words would never be enough to convince Percy of how desperately he loved him, so he supplemented them with actions as much as possible. 

Little things like bringing Percy tea in bed on those rare days he got to sleep in or openly and freely showing him affection both at home and when they were out and about. He bought Percy his favorite ink when he noticed the ink pot running low and massaged his tense shoulders when he came home from a trying day at work. Oliver was willing to do anything—anything at all—to demonstrate to Percy that this relationship was it for him, that he wanted Percy forever and not a day less. 

Percy’s arms wrapped around Oliver’s shoulders, tugging on him until Oliver acquiesced and rested his full weight on Percy. No matter how many times Percy assured him that he liked the feeling of all over Oliver’s bulk resting on him, Oliver was hesitant, so afraid he’d hurt him.

“Love you,” Percy gasped into Oliver’s ear, pulling away so that he could suck a mark into the sensitive skin of Oliver’s neck. 

“Love you too,” Oliver half moaned. “Love you so much. You are so perfect, Perce. So perfect and all mine.” 

Percy nodded. “Yes,” he agreed with a sound that was certainly not a whimper. “Yes, Ollie, I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

“Gonna show you,” Oliver said, mouthing at Percy’s jaw. “Gonna show you how beautiful you are. How much I love everything about you.” 

Percy whimpered. There was no denying it this time. “Wanna feel you, Ollie, please?” He tugged at Oliver’s shirt, but couldn’t seem to find the motor coordination to take it off. 

With a grin, Oliver sat up enough to slide his shirt over his head, revealing his perfectly toned chest covered in soft brown hair. He tossed the shirt aside and removed Percy’s glasses, setting them gently on the bedside table, and lowered himself down so that their chests brushed. 

Percy, apparently having recovered his motor skills, ran his hands greedily up and down Oliver’s back, wanting to touch as much skin as possible. Oliver’s mouth was hot and insistent upon his, the gentleness of earlier giving way to a needy desire to make Percy see himself the way Oliver saw him. He attacked his mouth with fervor, biting gently at Percy’s lips in the way he knew made Percy gasp. He drank Percy in, feeling the truth of every single cliché about feeling like you’ve come home when kissing your partner. The world just made more sense when he couldn’t tell where he ended and Percy began, there was no way around it. 

“Ollie,” Percy whined. “Please, I need you.” 

“Not yet, love,” Oliver said, taking a brief break from trailing kisses down his neck. “First I’m gonna worship every inch of you.” 

Percy couldn’t decide if he should be pleased or miffed at this idea of Oliver’s. On the one hand, he knew from personal experience that being on the receiving end of some worship from Oliver Wood was a very, very pleasant situation to find oneself in. On the other hand, he was so very hard and so completely full of wanting—of needing—Oliver that he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

“Ollie,” he said again, and he couldn’t tell if he was whining or begging. He didn’t get any further though, because Oliver had resumed his kisses and now found himself at Percy’s small, pink nipples. He immediately slid his mouth over one, sucking and nibbling, while pinching at the other. 

“I love how sensitive you are here,” Oliver said, his hot breath against Percy’s nipple. “So responsive for me.” He kissed his way to the other nipple to give it the same treatment as the first, leaving Percy thrashing and moaning underneath him. 

“I love your soft skin,” Oliver continued, biting softly just above Percy’s navel. “Love seeing my marks all over your perfect skin.”

Oliver continued his blissful torture of Percy’s body, dropping kisses on his shoulders, wrists, fingers, and belly. He sucked a rather lurid mark next to Percy’s hipbone, leaving Percy jerking and panting. He mouthed gently at Percy’s hard cock through his underwear, eliciting a desperate moan from Percy, but he continued his journey down to Percy’s thighs to give them some love and attention. He licked and sucked and kissed Percy’s thighs, the sparse hairs there tickling his face. He planted a kiss on each knee and caressed his calves and feet. “Everything about you is beautiful and perfect, Perce,” he said reverently. “You’re perfect because you’re you, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.” 

The combination of Oliver’s ministrations and the sincerity with which he murmured sweet praise had Percy nearly sobbing. “Please, Ollie,” he begged. “P-please, I need you so much. Don’t make me wait anymore.” 

“You’ve done so well, darling,” Ollie said softly, leaning back up to kiss Percy. “You’ve been so good for me. Such a good boy, aren’t you, love?” 

Percy nodded desperately. “Yes, I’ve been so patient. Ollie, please, I was good!” 

“Yes, love, you were so good. I love you, Perce.” He kissed him deeply. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Need you inside me, Ollie,” Percy babbled. “Need to feel you…I want you close to me. Want to be connected.” 

“I want that too,” Ollie said, finally shucking the sweatpants he’d worn home after his shower. He couldn’t resist teasing Percy a little bit more, though, and he ground his hard cock against Percy’s through their underwear.

“Not enough,” Percy moaned. “Please, Ollie, more.” 

Finally, Oliver eased Percy’s briefs off his body, his hard cock smacking against his stomach as it was released. It was flushed dark red and leaking steadily. Oliver leaned forward and suckled the head gently, needing to taste Percy. Percy moaned loudly and knotted his fingers in Oliver’s hair. “Ollie,” he whined. “Please, I need you to fuck me.” 

Oliver groaned. Even after being with Percy for nearly two years, it never failed to absolutely floor him to hear that request from his prim and proper boyfriend’s mouth. Oliver had heard Percy swear outside the bedroom on exactly one occasion, and even then, it was a whispered “oh damn” that only Oliver had heard, and Percy had literally slapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he’d said it. So hearing obscenities and dirty requests pour out of Percy’s mouth when he was at Oliver’s mercy was the sexiest fucking thing Oliver had ever heard, and he could deny Percy nothing when he began to swear. 

Oliver stripped off his own boxers and let his cock rub against Percy’s a bit. Both of them moaned and were beginning to pant slightly. “Want me to prep you?”

Percy shook his head. “Use the spell. Please, I just need you right now.” 

Most times they had sex, Oliver preferred to use his tongue and fingers to get Percy ready for his cock, but from time to time they took full advantage of being full-grown wizards and used spells as shortcuts. It certainly wasn’t Oliver’s preferred method—he loved hearing Percy whimper and moan as he used his tongue to get his hole soft and open before sliding his fingers inside—but he was willing to make an exception tonight. Percy looked so beautiful beneath him, after all, a deep red flush stretching from his chest up to his cheeks, his curly red hair disheveled. 

Oliver quickly performed the spells to stretch and lubricate and after a quick glance up at Percy to make sure he was ready—Percy’s glance somehow wordlessly communicated that if Oliver did not hurry up and put his cock in Percy’s ass, there would be hell to pay—he slid inside in one hard thrust. 

“Fuck!” Percy yelled, blindly reaching for Oliver, his eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. “Fuck, Ollie. Fuck. You feel so good. Please move—I need you to move!” 

Oliver adjusted Percy’s legs so that they rested against his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his beautiful boy as he began to thrust at a hard and steady pace. “Merlin, you’re so beautiful, Perce,” he murmured against Percy’s lips. “So fucking perfect. You feel so good around my cock.” 

Percy clawed at Oliver’s back, leaving scrapes and little half-moon indentations across Oliver’s tanned skin. “Not gonna last,” he gasped. 

“Me neither, love,” Oliver grunted, pounding into Percy harder and harder. “I’m gonna fill you up. You want that? Want me to fill you with my cum?” 

Having lost the ability to form words, Percy just nodded and whimpered, tangling a hand in Oliver’s hair and holding his face firm against his so that he could kiss him deeply. Before he could say a word, Percy came hard, splattering his cum against both of their chests. 

Oliver thrust a half dozen more times before spilling his cum into Percy. Panting, he collapsed onto Percy’s chest, careful not to crush him and enjoyed the feeling of Percy softly stroking his hair as he caught his breath. After a moment, he gently pulled out and lapped up the cum off Percy’s chest and stomach, earning him a soft whimper. He cast a quick spell to clean the rest of their mess and settled back onto the bed, spooning Percy from behind. He kissed Percy’s hair tenderly, feeling so content that he was certain he’d never want to move from this spot. 

Percy twisted in Oliver’s arms so that they were facing each other. “Ollie?”

“Yeah?” Oliver said, his voice thick with love and exhaustion. 

“I’ll never stop loving you, either. You know that, right?” Percy looked so damn earnest, like it was the highest of priorities that Oliver was aware of Percy’s unending love. 

Oliver smiled, kissing Percy softly. “Yeah, I know, Perce. I know.”

Percy returned the smile. “Okay, good. Just wanted to make sure. ‘Cause loving you is the easiest—and best—thing I’ve ever done. ”

**Author's Note:**

> Title pulled from the song "Loving You Is Easy" by Ben Rector.
> 
> Oliver Wood is so, so soft and loving and don't even @ me.


End file.
